Scar Tissue
by gribouillis
Summary: The young son of a business magnate, Alois was spoiled throughout his upbringing. His life seems enviably easy- until, at fifteen years old, he goes missing. The authorities are quick to investigate; search him out daily, air news reports; all the time oblivious to the fact the 'victim', under the care of 27 year old Claude Faustus, has absolutely no desire to be found.


**Scar Tissue ¦¦ Alois x Claude ¦¦ Modern AU ¦¦ Chapter 01**

The clouds burst and the rain hammered down on the windscreen. The weather had turned the moment they'd hit the motorway; a hazy day in late September fell victim to a slate sky and mizzling rain. The air was clammy and for all the tightly closed windows, it penetrated the interior of the car and the smooth leather felt damp to the touch. The wind came in gusts and shook the fragile body in the passenger seat.

Claude's face was a mask of concentration, of frustration, and his fingers flexed against the steering wheel. He tried to push his little grey car through the curtains of water at speeds it had never reached before, to slice down the road before morning reared its ugly head. Alois peered over his shoulder for the hundredth time, and when he pulled his gaze away, he turned it immediately to the rear view mirror. Paranoia haunted him, and the road was still clear, but he was not at ease.

Claude glanced at him. "Stop it."

Alois tried to smile.

This was meant to be what we wanted, wasn't it? Inundated by the mind's contemplations, the blonde leaned forward to the edge of the dashboard and rested his chin at the crook of his elbow. The radio blurred out muffled lyrics, punctuated by static and the torrents of rain battering the windows. Alois was not sad for the life he left behind. But his heart ached, and it was not for the people or the belongings, but from a pang of fear and shaky anticipation.

He glanced back again and he watched, heart thudding, as a car roared up behind them. But of course it wasn't his. He rested his head back in it's place and let out a long, breathy exhale. He would come looking for him. And when he did, Alois had to be somewhere he was not ever going to be found.

Alois was running away from everything he'd ever known. He'd spent his life living on the outskirts of London and he'd never left his city for longer than a couple of weeks for a holiday. He'd grown up in a closed and secretive world behind the careful veil of heavy business. The Trancy company had a fierce and proud reputation and despite the constant encroachments of the media, their family grew very surreptitious in regards to their private life.

He was his parents' first son. His father and mother had been married for five years before he was born on the 5th November, 1997, in a local hospital. There were no complications and until the age of three he lived the sheltered life of a normal young boy, cared for at the hands of not only his parents, but the countless staff who smothered and doted on him.

Of course, his heritage was a noble one. The company was well-known and highly respected in all walks of life. Aside from the constant scandals, they were best known their string of hotels, which were spread wide across Europe for the first few years of Alois' life and eventually expanded to become a worldwide phenomenon.

When Alois reached three years old, his little brother was born. Alois was always closest to Luca. The blonde was the centre of the younger boy's world from a young age. He worshiped him and in return Alois was always very affectionate. Any time their father was at work the two of them would parade around their sizeable house, yelling and play-fighting and storming through the halls causing trouble. "Boys will be boys," his mother would croon dismissively, and she would defend them fiercely against anyone who dared call her children out on their misbehavior.

They spent hours watching reruns of Disney movies, scoffing cakes and sweets they would pinch from the kitchen when the staff were absent. They would reenact the scenes with the sofas as their stages, leap across the lounge to fight off the imaginary evils that faced them. And in those days, the two of them were perfectly content.

But eventually, they were given more freedom, and those villains took human form. A deep-routed prejudice against the other boys from their estate formed inside the pair, and they would pick fights constantly. Alois was very protective of his sibling but if a scrap broke out and Luca got involved, neither of them would hold back. They were introverted and hostile towards any external party; essentially, they only trusted each other, and it stayed that way for years. Even in school, they stuck together.

His death tore apart the foundations of their family, and the shreds that remained were mutated and unhealthy.

Alois was ten years old when his brother was killed. The car that hit him did not stop afterwards. That was not the end of it, either; the accident eventually claimed two lives. His mother's suicide occurred after six weeks of grieving. The driver was found and trialed the following November, but nothing could undo the damage.

The boys in the street left him alone for a good few months after that; perhaps out of sympathy, or perhaps because Alois had stopped retaliating. He was little more than an empty shell for the rest of that year. He was utterly miserable, and when he finally began to re-emerge from his cocoon, the fights worsened tenfold.

The other boys didn't understand him, and he didn't understand them, and they were forever at odds. Eventually the fighting stopped scaring him, because he knew that he was quicker than them and he could take a punch, even if the other boys were stronger. He came out with scratches and terrible contusions, but the other guy usually came off pretty bad himself, and no-one was ever knocked unconscious. Their scathing remarks bothered him more than anything; comments about his sexuality, which at that point was unknown to most, and about his mother and Luca. They would bring up their deaths to torment him and they would liken him to the head of the Trancy company, because they knew it would set him off.

His father was a stern and infamous personage who demanded nothing short of total authority. He was a brilliant conman with a golden tongue; a skilled businessman and an icon in the world of investment. He was respected by everyone. He had also been sexually abusing Alois since he was twelve years old.

It wasn't the death of his wife or son that turned Trancy in to such a morbid and twisted individual; he was just used to getting what he wanted. He was greedy and gluttonous and prurient, and his only vices were within him because no-one dared question the persona he so carefully created for himself.

It was not a progressive occurrence. His father had always been a violent man and perhaps there had been some subtle touches under the dining room table over the years, an ominous prelude. And then, unprovoked, one evening he marched his son to the bedroom, stripped him, and abused his body repeatedly. Not only was he already confident that his son would not breathe a word, but he would occasionally threaten him with a loss of inheritance, or pay him bribes of ridiculous sums. Alois never cared for the money. Every bank note was another strike.

The infliction was sporadic and infrequent, but the threat was always present. The things he did would sometimes leave Alois unable to swallow or sit without pain. And while Trancy would occasionally slip him a wad of pound notes afterwards, Alois would lay mute and numb, praying for deliverance. But it never came, and he was made to endure it. He kept silent.

He was allowed far more freedom by the age of fourteen, and he left the house as often as he could to escape the atrocities that awaited him. His social life in school slowly and unexpectedly improved, and he eventually started to spend every weekend out drinking with older students. They used to go to a bar complex just east of their estate and blow Alois' money on the rich liquors he didn't even like the taste of.

It was there, fourteen years old and bitterly unhappy, that Alois first met Claude Faustus.

He worked as a bartender in one of the scruffier establishments on the avenue mews just behind the main complex. Slate locks and impassive to everything, he was difficult to miss. Aesthetically, he was a perfect balance of refined and rugged.

One Saturday when Alois' usual party had disappeared for cigarettes and failed to return, the blonde spent a few hours on the bar stool nursing a pint and chatting to Claude. He told Alois that he was twenty-seven and had grown up Berkshire, where his initial career as an actor had blatantly failed. He'd moved to London almost a year prior to his employment within the bar to share a flat with his partner, who, after their break-up, fled to West Dorset with the majority of Claude's belongings in tow.

Alois told him he was just skirting twenty and had a day job in a clothes store. Obviously, Claude was more than skeptical, but he never asked for ID. That first evening they chatted for just under an hour before Claude finished his shift and set off home. Alois offered him a drink in a different pub, but Claude politely turned him down and left early with the excuse he was tired. Alois thought he might have made a bad impression.

Most nights after that, when they saw one another, they would say nothing more than a fleeting hello.

But then the little terrors started perusing Alois' haven, and his peace was ruined. They swaggered in to the bar around eleven o' clock one Friday night and moved straight in on the girls who congregated near the pool table. Alois tried to ignore them, but inwardly, he spat with fury. These conceited pieces of shit had ruined his childhood, constantly fought him, and now they had disrupted his sanctuary.

At first he paid little mind to them, but they made rather a sport of taking Alois down. He was heading back into the bar after a bathroom break when one of the larger boys set on him. He managed to land one punch on the bridge of his nose with a satisfying thwack before the rest of them jumped on his pinned body and battered him.

It was Claude and some security staff who came to his rescue.

Claude took him up to the staff toilet and wiped his bloody cheeks with a wet muslin towel before he retrieved a first aid kit and dressed the three gaping cuts on his face. His father would later question those and he would blame it on a rogue dog near the park, but if he covered them with makeup, they would hopefully go unnoticed by anyone else. By the time he was patched up the others had all left. This time it was Claude who extended the invitation for a drink, and Alois heartily accepted.

"I'll drop you back afterwards," he offered. But Alois' house was very easily recognizable.

"It's fine, it's not that far," he lied. "I'll walk."

"I'll walk with you, then."

Alois tone was firm and final. "I can manage."

Claude took him to a quiet pub where they sat in a corner cradling a few untouched drinks, and they talked. Alois was bowled over by him. He was secretive, and yet his observations were so blunt and truthful; and although his views carried a pinch of (albeit realistic) cynicism, he seemed so controlled and self-aware. He was warm and interesting and even his misanthropic sense of humour was inviting.

Claude told Alois about his life, and Alois told Claude about his. The petite blond left out only three things; his home life, his sexuality and his age.

After that encounter, he met up with Claude most nights. He told his father that he was going out with his friends, and he told his friends he was going out with a different, non-existent group. By this point he'd become rather skilled at sneaking around and lying. Alois knew that he was pretty infatuated with Claude, but his views on romance seemed twisted and Claude was still somewhat of an enigma; he had no idea how his friend felt for him.

They spent Alois' fifteenth birthday together, and Alois felt awful and very paranoid every time Claude toasted his twenty-first. They walked back through the streets together for the first time. He blamed his outburst on the intoxication.

He told Claude he loved him, and Claude's expression remained unchanged. "You say always say that when you're drunk."

Alois wailed. "I'm not even that pissed yet-"

Then Alois stopped in his tracks and turned to face Claude. His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol and his drunken grin ebbed to a look of solitude. And out of nowhere, he burst out crying.

Claude had seen Alois drunk before and when the blonde threw his arms around Claude's shoulders, he did little but stifle an awkward huff and pat his back for him. Alois was usually either sentimental or flirty at this point, not that he usually drank this much. He carried on sobbing for a good six minutes.

When he leaned back a little, biting his lip and blinking away his tears, he rocked forward on his heels and kissed Claude.

And it was only once he'd been carted home and dropped off that he realized how ridiculous he'd been, plagued by a thumping headache in the morning, and what a terrible and complicated situation he was getting himself in to.


End file.
